Bobby cleaned up the dinner mess with more than his usual alacrity. He flew around that kitchen as fast as he could without risking breaking dishes. He was so scared and exhilarated he wouldn’t have been able to sit still if he’d had to.
It would have taken elaborate bondage indeed to restrain him. Even then he’d have squirmed and struggled irrepressibly, the intensity of his arousal striving madly for any outlet. He hadn’t ejaculated in ten days now, since masturbating in his lonely loser’s shoebox and wondering what it would be like to travel with a vengeful lesbian bike gang.
Now in seventy-two hours he would face a hundred of them, some extremely hardcore. And any minute now the group currently in possession of him was going to torture him in ways he couldn’t dare imagine. The anticipation of extreme suffering (and perverse gratification) had his hands shaking and his glans bloated grotesquely where it protruded from its prison.
Across the huge room, the Devil Dykes were kitting up again.
Each stripped down and pulled leathers back on over naked flesh: demon-emblazoned vests, riding chaps, fingerless gauntlets and boots. As always they would take him in their colors.
Spikes and studs and decorative chain flashed silver on black. Flexing muscles made tattoos writhe as though alive. From behind the bed Sydney wheeled out a large bin on a little dolly. This was filled with a phallic collection that put Naomi’s cornucopia to shame. As they had at Erica’s, the seven of them bantered excitedly as they girded up for vengeance, competing to don the biggest or most insidiously-designed penis. Once every goddess was as fearsomely endowed as the demon she housed, a little baggie came out and made the rounds. Then they turned to their slave-in-training just finishing up in the kitchen.
Lilli had her belt in hand and a face full of malignant hate.
Naomi loathed him too and considered his anal enjoyment an affront; her fondest wish was still to fist him to death. She carried a heavy wooden paddle.
Erica had her shock-wand while Sid pushed that bin full of sex toys and torture devices.
Psycho looked as wildly primed for excess as Boy-toy felt; her giant, viciously-ridged weapon seemed truly monstrous against her petite slenderness. She had not a cell phone but an actual high-def video camera already trained on him.
Jeri was carrying her handcuffs. But it was lovely Toni who met him as he came willingly forth to face this latest ordeal. She had a tiny square of paper on her fingertip.
“Open your mouth to me, baby. Ride the magic bus with your mistresses.”
Knowing he was in for four or five hours of far worse madness than he could hope to imagine, Bobby let her put the dose of LSD on his tongue. She kissed him afterward and whispered her love for him. Then like Jeri that first day she punched him hard in the stomach, folding him up helplessly gasping.
They swarmed around, laughing and whooping. The air was thick with pack-fever and the musk of their shared sadistic lust.
Quickly Jeri cuffed Boy-toy’s hands behind him. They dragged him along with that dolly into the elevator. Penned in the creaking cage with a gang of hermaphroditic satyrs as they descended to the hell below was so terrifying and suspenseful that the bitch hadn’t properly caught his breath yet when the gate accordioned back. Naked and defenseless he was hauled out into the mechanistic demesne where these bikers worked on their machines – or the cavern where these demons attended their dragons.
Handcuffed he was thrown to the stain-patterned stone.
Around him grease gleamed on shafts and actuators. Huge power tools hung on mounts, ready to be swung into action. High shelves on two sides were a jumbled wonderland of black rubber and steel implements. Hooks hung on cables slung from hoists impending above. His glans flaming against the cool hard grit, Bobby felt his legs unceremoniously split. Painfully spread perpendicular to his torso, these made as straight an angle as the eight-foot long, one-inch pipe laid down along them at the top of his buttocks.
Exuding an air of infernal possession even before any psychoactive stimuli could suggest it Bobby’s demon-goddesses chained him to that pipe at the ankles, knees and right at the bunched junction of his thighs and buttocks. Cables were lowered and connected to either end of the pipe and another hooked to his handcuffs. The whirring of a winch hauled him up, and he was hung waist-high and terribly sway-backed again – though the pipe along his kidneys made this more tolerable than when he was suspended hogtied.
Still Bobby’s shoulders strained at their sockets and the cuffs bit into his wrists. He writhed just as automatically as he’d expected; his bowed torso thrust out his tits invitingly. Below him his caged criminality waggled. Cheering his oh-so woeful-joyful groan, the goddesses gifted him with additional torments.
Someone hung small iron tools from his nipple rings. Someone else wrapped a chain around his balls and hung so much more weight from this that his stretched scrotum pulled open his slutty mutt-cunt. Someone rubbed thick heavy oil on this. They crammed an enormous conical metal vibrator up there before dialing it on high. Slyly smiling Toni fit the ring-gag in his groaning mouth. Jeri used it to bind his head way back, opening up his throat. Those blunt little hooks snubbed his nose up into a snout.
“Show us that amazing tongue of yours, doggy,” his lovely Latina temptress cooed. “Stick it all the way out for me.”
Murmurs from the latest additions greeted the length and taper Bobby thrust forth. Then Sydney used some kind of metal automotive clamp to seize it and prevent its retraction through the ring. Tongue stretched in stressful full extension, the muzzled puppy began to pant and drool around that cold steel immediately. Then Erica stepped up and got the foreplay underway.
Had he called that shock-wand a toy earlier? If so it was a damn effective one, making him mewl and flinch and cry out as it zapped his tongue, his nose, his tear-wet cheeks and his cruelly stretched-out nipples. Yet no sooner had others begun to belabor the soles of his feet with lengths of tough rubber hose when Sydney proved the truth imparted that afternoon.
She rolled up a handcart carrying a big new battery with jumper cables already hooked to the terminals and hung over the handles.
The excellent thing about electricity is that if used judiciously it leaves no lasting damage or visible marks.
Long after his feet had been beaten, his legs and butt welted with the belt and bruised by the paddle and his torso whipped to past the point of prudence, the Devil Dykes were able to keep hitting his dripping tongue, his bulging balls and glans, the butt of the copper plug jutting from his ass and anywhere else with prolonged jolts of vicious current.
Soaked with a conductive brine of sweat, Bobby swung helpless in his agony and felt his muscles convulse almost continuously. Strangling on his screams or shuddering mutely with his clamped tongue clutched by one of the endless succession of assholes he was blessed to investigate, he felt the dangling dance of his weights only distantly.
Indeed he was so transported by the euphoria of proving his devotion that he couldn’t tell exactly when the hallucinogen began to magnify everything.
His brain was already overloaded on import and input. Gorging on a flood of neurotransmitters, his synapses fired a conflagration of excitation across his cortex. That sensory storm was just getting underway though, preparing to drown him in detail and imbue every perception with profundity. Glorying in his worship of femininity with Kim as Godhead and Toni and the others as sacred embodiments, Bobby slid seamlessly into a fantastical torture trip.
Thanks to the time dilation that comes with such dissociation this state seemed as eternal as it was harrowing. Yet it was also as exalting as any religious or mystical visitation. Under the geas of acid and agony and the musky envelopment of cruel femininity, Bobby soon soared to a rarified clarity. A deep self-acceptance enabled absolute immersion in the mindless imperative to submit that his early experiences had inculcated in him. Yet when the foreplay was finally finished and the demons capering around him could restrain their need to punish him in their preferred fashion no longer, he was possessed by an animalistic estrus that was infernal in its own right. From transcendence to the most primitive rutting fever conceivable, the drug took whatever baton it was passed and ran with it.
Slobbery and sobbing and futilely fighting his chains, the walls and shelves and machinery expanding and contracting and playing intricate geometric games, Bobby implored his torturers with his eyes and will and mind and a plaintive puppyish whining. Like a mutt trying to cadge a treat be begged them to batter him with excruciating abandon as they moved in primed for rape.
Of course despite his bondage he was the opposite of unwilling. But let his enactors of feminine revenge have their illusions. His lovers knew the truth. As Jeri poured amber motor oil over the gigantic cock she’d donned, Toni freed his tongue from the clamp and his teeth from the ring. She loosed his ponytail and buried her fists in sweaty silk.
Big black jutted at him in succulent insistence. The LSD made a plaything of perspective and that familiar erection loomed and stretched like an incoming ICBM. He stretched himself, reaching his sore oral organ for it, and whimpered when he came up short. His beloved gut-puncher growled at him in his desperately needy heat.
“This is what makes it all worth it, isn’t it, bitch?”
Psycho with the camera was moving in for a close-up of his confession.
“As long as you get fucked enough, you don’t care what else we do to you. You live for butch bitches like the Devil Dykes to make you take it like the women you so worship!”
To hell with their illusions. Bobby felt Jeri moving behind him as he barked out the truth.
“You want to make it up to me, that I was once raped by men like yourself!”
“Please, Goddess, make me pay for what they did to you! Make me pay for every rape ever committed! My function in life is to suffer for the sins of my sex!”
Oh, his craving for it was killing him! Fortunately his lover-tormentors didn’t test his derangement further. Jeri wrenched the giant vibrator from him, making him yelp with pain and the need for more. Then as roars of savage misandry satisfied broke out all around, the women who’d secretly asked to raise his child plunged their huge pricks in vicious tandem into him.
Bobby’s inner twinge was like a snapped harp string. From hormones and endorphins, psychotropics and memory engrams and the unquantifiable apotheoses of arousal, his inner being alchemized an emotional ague that shook him like the orgasm he couldn’t have. Face broiling, glans throbbing, he squealed his consummation as he was spitted and shuddered wildly even before those penises could begin to properly pound him between them.
Lilli and Naomi snarled their disgust.
Sydney watched with jaw-dropped astonishment.
Erica smirked and reached in with the jumper cables.
As Bobby choked and convulsed with the renewed electrocution of his balls, and ecstatically celebrated the relentlessly bludgeoning in-and-out dual rhythm finally beginning, Psyche danced in place with insupportable thrill, not minding that she was surely shaking the camera frame.
Meanwhile Lilli and Naomi went back to work flaying his soles with fresh fury. Sydney was over making some insidious adaptation to her mechanical equipment. And so the latest interminable tag-team double-fucking gangbang, the torture-orgy and sexual service extravaganza to put all previous training sessions in perspective, was underway at last.